Its 2016 and I’m on annual leave from the office of an insignificant little consulting firm in far north Queensland, where I spend the months daydreaming of impending adventures in Tasmania’s wilderness. I’ve fulfilled my duties as an employee: feigned interest at the appropriate times, nodded intelligently when a question beyond my comprehension is thrust upon me, and generally pretended to be a sensible member of society. These tedious responsibilities have been revoked and the sense of anticipation in the car is palpable as we make our way towards Lake St Clair from Hobart: Beneath Dad’s cool exterior as he negotiates the roads leading to Australia’s deepest natural lake is an excitement unrivalled by anything since the day he watched a slinky walk itself down a staircase, whilst Ben’s keenness is masked only by his heavy breathing as he catches up on missed sleep. The timing of our jaunt is rather delicate, as my heavily pregnant sister-in-law is threatening to make an uncle of Ben and myself, whilst the third member of our party is expecting to become a grandfather. In universal news, another death star has just been destroyed. Nevertheless, Australia’s current Prime minister (although this could change on any given day) – Malcolm Turnbull – has recently signed a treaty with leaders around the globe declaring allegiance to The First Order in an attempt to maintain a “common determined purpose to ensure the security of our nation and its people.”

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When his job expired in the middle of 2016, Andrew realised that he still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. It was then that he decided to stop pretending to be normal and stop pretending to be a respectable citizen. He abruptly announced that he planned to embark on a journey beginning somewhere in Asia, heading in a generally westward direction, for an indefinite period of time.